Delirium
by Indigo Code
Summary: I just lie feebly on the cold floor, hoping in dead silence. Hoping that I'm going to be breathing in the conclusion.


What was there to accomplish? What was there to gain from all of this? All of those people. How could they be so irrational? So innocent? So _naive_? Money. Greed was the cause of their tactless fate. Just a jade slip of paper was enough to risk their somewhat beneficial and potential lives.

Not her. She couldn't have participated in this gruesome punishment for currency. She wouldn't dare to do that. But she existed on the list, anyway. She was a blessing, an endowment from the almighty God himself. Then again, she was cursed to carry out the most treacherous task that anyone could endure. Such an unfortunate girl. She didn't deserve this. At least fatality hasn't caught up to her.

I can't bear to see her vulnerable, unversed, unwary. Rashness will get you nothing but regret around here. "Assistance," I whisper to myself. "She needs a little assistance." I sit up, wiping the sticky sweat off my forehead. My fatigued muscles ache as I attempt to stand on my feet.

_You are in no condition to run around, now._ My companion in a box speaks to me with a soft tone. _You need to let the wound heal. _I glance down at my arm. A mixture of maroon and scarlet stains my right coat sleeve; it brings back awful memories of the ventilation accident a while ago. A big chunk of my arm has been sliced off from the razor-sharp fan blades. "I'm fine." I reassure my friend. I drag my feet across the dilapidated den and over to the vacant wall. I grab my paintbrush; it's deteriorated with age, but it's one of the best things I could get my hands on around here.

_You're out of paint._ I check the discarded paint cans beside my feet. He's right, they're all hollow.I gingerly pick up the nub of chalk off the filthy floor. The delicate strokes I make on the grungy canvas entrance me. The soft hums off the air vents gradually fade away as I immerse myself into a new world; a world where everything is serene, tranquil, and unflawed. A world where nothing wrong could possibly be attempted by even the most intolerable individual. A world that is safe and harmless. My own, private utopia.

Of course, nothing can be faultless and idyllic. Illusions, however, are immeasurably existent. For once, I want to live in these childlike delusions. It's nice to experience something other than distress or discomfort.

But, I can feel my unstable emotions take a dark turn. My breaths become rough and staccato-like as my personal paradise reaches its unexpected downfall. My gentle streaks of wispy gray become thick, coarse, and blackened as my hostility rises to its climax. My once blissful deceptions turn into horrific mirages, portraying as my crude sketches.

_"You can't win. Do you know that?"_ The stick-figure shaped scrawling hisses at me. _"Just give up now while you're already losing." _ The turret scribbling scorns with an antipathy tone. Stay calm, Doug. They're not real. Their words are not-

_Clank! Clank! Clank! Clank! Clank! Clank! Clank!_

I know that sound anywhere! Could- Could it be? Could that be the sound of boots coming from outside? Could that really be her?! She really made it here?!

I scramble out of the den energetically. Hustling through the tight crevices and skidding towards the diminished hole in the floor where the plaster tiles have been stripped away. I jump into opening. A great surge of pain swells in my legs as I land on the rusted and grated floor below. I open my eyes to find… nothing. The whole chamber is vacant, rundown, and neglected. My heart shatters like fragile glass. I am deceived by my own insanity. And at first, I really thought she was here. How could I be so foolish?!

_"Oh, I guess your psychosis got the best of you. Didn't it?"_ A deep, repugnant voice taunts in my head. _"She's not here. She's probably dead. So much for your plan. It was all for nothing." _No. She can't be dead. She can't be dead now. _"Why do you even care? She's just one in the million. One thousand four hundred and ninety-eight to be exact."_ 'Your mind _can_ lie. Never doubt it.' I can't even let my guard down for five seconds before my lunacy gets the upper-hand. _"She's not special. She's not intelligent. She's not an athlete. So why did you pick her? Why, Doug? Tell me why." _I just knew she was the one. I know that she can do it. She is capable of doing what other people can't. _"Oh… So you just 'had a hunch', huh? A hunch?" _There is nothing wrong about trusting your instinct._ "Well, what are you going to do now? Mr. Instinct?" _I can feel an intense throbbing in the back of my neck. An icy chill encases my fingertips. _"What are you going to do?"_

"STOP!"

I grip a discarded, severed pipe and throw it across the chamber in blind fury. Irritation and resentment congests my throat, making it hard for me to breathe. I'm ready to throw another pipe, until my hand unintentionally slices against some metal shrapnel. I recoil my hand and tuck it in my threadbare coat. A stinging sensation creeps up my arm. A scarlet tint shows through the coat as the stinging creeps up to my shoulders. A dull, throbbing pain stabs into my knees. My cheek presses against the freezing, grated floor. I pull my injured hand out of my coat. Blood trickles down from the gaping wound in the middle of my palm and drips onto the floor, where it dissolves into the grates. I'm losing too much blood. I already lost a huge amount in the fan blades. If I bleed out now, I could die off completely. I tuck my hand back into my coat and press my other hand on it, attempting to halt the excessive blood loss.

Dotted lines obstruct my vision. The stinging has now exceeded to my neck. My vigilance is excruciatingly slow as it wanes away, little by little. I try to spit out the resentment in my throat, but I'm not successful. I breathe in the musty, dry air, making me hack and cough profusely. I just lie feebly on the cold floor, hoping in dead silence. Hoping that I'm going to be breathing in the conclusion.

Hope… H- Hope…

~~()~()~()~~

If I could think one word, it would be _"Monotonous"_. That's how I feel right now, standing in this room. It's dull. Not a single color in sight. I hate dull, pallid, tedious- however you can name it. It's just upsetting to me.

_Monotonous._ Even the name sounds lifeless.

Why am I even standing here? Is there a reason I should be in this mind-numbing room? I glimpse down at the floor. The floor is so immaculate that I can see my entire reflection in it. The walls also have that mirror-like quality to it.

Silence is another thing I bear a grudge to. Although, I can handle it for a little while; I despise an eerie noiselessness for long periods of time.

_Hehehehehe!_

I flinch in surprise, spinning hurriedly on the heels of my feet to the infantile giggles behind me. My eyes widen as I see a woman and a child. The little girl skips joyfully in circles around the woman, who has her back turned away from me. The woman has long brown curls that lie weightlessly on her shoulders. She also sports a tan, knee-length dress and simple, black high-heels. The little girl's hair is a darker shade of brown, tied up neatly in a pony-tail. The girl wears a bright orange dress with a white, satin ribbon around her waist. I narrow my eyebrows at the two, who seem to ignore the fact that I exist. This entire situation confuses me to full extent. Who are they? And why are they here?

The woman then turns around. I shrink away a little in horror to find that the woman has no face. There is nothing there! No eyes, no nose, no eyebrows, and no mouth! The woman picks up the girl, tossing her happily into the air. The girl laughs with even more delight. The woman then stops and snuggles the little child in her arms. She then puts the child down and lets her go. The girl excitedly runs toward me. She hugs me tight and then holds my hand in hers. "Come on, daddy! Follow me!" She squeaks with glee.

I look up. The faceless woman has now vanished into thin air. And the monotonous room is replaced with a more lively room. Streamers ornament the ceiling, the walls are painted a light green, and on the walls are posters that read 'First Annual Bring Your Daughter To Work Day!'. Clusters of cardboard dioramas sit on desks that are scattered in various places around the room. Crowds of people gather around the platform in the center of the room. And in the center of the platform, suspended from the ceiling, is a mechanical body of wires and gears. The little girl guides me by tugging on my lab coat sleeve. She escorts me through the crowds and the clusters and stops near a specific diorama. "This is our project, daddy!" I squint to see the crudely drawn words on the white cardboard. She then hands me a pot filled with dirt and a small potato in it. "Do you think we're gonna' win?" She asks me innocently. A continuous string of words flows through my train of thought. Peculiarly, I involuntarily begin to repeat what they say, "You just got to believe in yourself and always hope for best, sweetheart." Her face then shows a bigger smile, "Thank you, daddy."

"All daughters must report to the Faculty Rec. Room immediately." Someone announces on the intercom. The little girl and I exchange puzzling looks. "Where am I going?" She asks with a concerning look in her pale gray eyes. "It's going to be alright, sweetheart. Just go on with your friends, and I'll meet you when you come out." I answer her with a convincing tone. I give her a small kiss on the forehead and hug her tight. She hugs me back and then shuffles off with the other girls. But before she disappears in the crowd, she waves at me, full of confidence. I wave back at her.

_Thump Thump! Thump! Thump!_

Turning around, I see a blond-haired man in window across the room, tapping on the glass nonstop. The energetic man then gives me a 'Come Here' gesture. I put down the potato and walk toward the steel door next to the window. There is a key card padlock above the handle. Searching my coat pockets, I pull out a thin card of plastic with a barcode on it. I swipe the card into the electronic lock and open the door. "Hey, Doug!" He greets me optimistically; he has a noticeably British accent. "You won't believe what happened!" He unclips his name tag and holds it in front of my face with pride. 'Stephen' it reads in blue lettering. 'Lab Assistant' is printed in parentheses below the word 'Stephen'. "Pret-ty cool, huh?"

"Weren't you just the telephone receptionist?" I ask him dubiously. "Yeah. But for some reason, Mr. Johnson seems to have a liking for me. And he promoted to 'Lab Assistant'!" Stephen replies with enthusiasm in his voice. "Now, I'm one of the _'Lab Boys'_!" He pins the name tag back on his bleached lab coat. "Do you know anything about being a 'Lab Assistant'?" I say with judicious suspicion. "They said that all I had to do was push these buttons in a certain sequence." He responds, studying the array of buttons, switches, and lights on the enormous control panel. He starts to press the buttons gingerly in a precise pattern. I notice how rapid his surprisingly nimble fingers dance onto the buttons in an inconsistent rhythm. He then pauses. "Isn't she a magnificent piece of work?" He asks me softly, directing his attention on the inorganic physique of machinery in the center of the room. I unwillingly bit down on my lower lip, wordlessly refusing to answer Stephen's question.

"Why are they taking all the daughters into the Rec. Room?" I ask him. He glances at me with an amused look on his face. "I don't know." He answers. I bit down on my lip with more pressure. He observes my ineffectively subtle expression of apprehension. "Look, I may not be a father myself, but I know how it feels to fuss like one. Don't worry, Doug. I'm sure your daughter's alright." He then adds with empathy.

A long percentage of time passes by before I break the muteness. "This may be a stupid question, but whatever happened to Mr. Johnson's assistant? I haven't seen her in months. Did she just quit working?" Stephen just shuts his eyes, puts his hand over his face, and soundlessly mouths out the word, "Classified". I raise an eyebrow at him, confused. For a brief moment, his lighthearted personality is switched with a more somber and depressed one. I've never seen him so discontent like this. And how is information about Cave's assistant _classified_?

His eyes then snap wide open, and his cheery nature reappears on his face in the form of a slight smile. "Weren't you on a 'Sick Leave' a while ago? You must've been on a Sick Leave at the time. She decided to leave the facility for some strange reason. Nobody really knows why. I can't believe you didn't notice her missing for months!" He says; a hint of angst and an even smaller hint of deceit hide beneath that easy grin. "I just wanted to know where she was, that's all." I reply casually. He returns to the control panel, pressing on each multicolored button with swiftness. A tiny bead of sweat rolls down Stephen's face. He takes in big gulps of air. Uneasiness is a surefire sign that he's hiding something. Did she really quit? If Stephen's really lying to my face, then where is she? What happened to her?

"…Red, blue, red, green, aaaannndddd… Blue! There!" He announces; the restlessness in his face disappears into the atmosphere. He stands over the small lever on the panel, looking at me with a composed expression. "Would you like to do the honors?" He offers me, presenting the lever to me as if it was a million dollar cash prize.

Reluctantly, I step back. I stare timidly at the lever, then at the mechanical structure on the platform. An unanticipated sensation of nausea washes over me. I shove my hands in my pockets out of edginess. Stephen cocks his head to the side and glares at me puzzlingly. "Is something wrong?" He questions me. "It's just… I don't feel like doing it." I reply. His dark blue eyes flash a stunned look. "Are you kidding me? You can't just turn down an opportunity like this!" He snaps at me, completely shocked. "I just don't want to do it. What's the big deal?" I say in a casual voice. "THIS is the big deal!" He waves his arms at the machine that's far beyond the window. "Imagine being the first person to introduce an actual Artificial Intelligence to the world! People will worship you, Doug! And you don't even want to accept the bloody lever!" He spits out his words crossly.

We sit in pure silence, staring irately at each other. Stephen then lets out an exasperated breath. "Well, would you at least _count_ with me? Please?" He compromises with impatience stressing his voice. "Fine," I answer. His shoulders relax once I answer. "Thanks." He says back. He strides over toward the lever again and puts a hand on it. "Five…" He starts. I roll my eyes and reply, "Four…"

"Three…" He tightens his grip on the handle.

"Two…"

"ONE!" Stephen forces the lever down with powerful strength. The lights flicker for a split-second. A spark of energy surges through the wires hanging from the drywall ceiling and into the motionless machine. The crowd is silenced in awe as the machine hums and whirs noisily.

_Zzzzzzzzzwwwwoooooommmmmmmmm !_

The machine then jolts to life, raising its "head" up and gazing at the audience with its dusk-colored optic as it awakens. "Welcome to the Aperture Science Computer-Aided Enrichment Center." It declares in a flat, feminine, and computerized voice. The entire crowd cheers with jubilance. "She's running! It worked!" Stephen shouts triumphantly. In the ecstatic applauses and praises, my queasiness never perishes away. I feel sweaty and oddly overwrought. There's like a twisted knot in the center of my stomach, making me feel tremendously abysmal. I just observe the indolent, robotic creation in perplexity.

"The Enrichment Center would like to announce a new employee initiative of forced voluntary participation." She states vapidly, quieting the overjoyed ovation suddenly. "If any Aperture Science employee would like to opt out of this new voluntary testing program, please remember that 'Science' rhymes with 'Compliance'." Stephen narrows his eyes in suspicion.

"Do you know what doesn't rhyme with 'Compliance'?"

"… _Neurotoxin_…"

"What is she-" He whispers; his sentence is cut off by the hissing sound emitting from the other room. People cry in fear as the room's atmosphere is clouding up with a sickly green mist. Some already collapse on the floor, choking to death. "SHE'S MURDERING THEM!" He shrieks. He presses all the buttons at random, trying to stop the homicidal robot. "HIT THE KILL SWITCH STEPHEN! THE KILL SWITCH!" I scream at him. He rushes toward the rusted, metallic box bolted to the wall. He rips it open with his bare hands and thrusts down the latch. She laughs manically across the room. "IT'S NOT WORKING!" He cries, hysterical. I race to the box and thrust the latch down with all my might. "Due to high mortality rates, you may be reluctant to participate in the new initiative. The Enrichment Center assures you this is a strictly selfish impulse on your part, and why can't you love science like [Insert Co-Workers Name Here]?" She says with a malevolent tone.

"WHY ISN'T SHE DYING?!" I shout, stooping under the control panel and ripping out all of the cords from their sockets hastily. Stephen then jams his elbow into the mechanisms of the box in desperation. White-hot sparks fly out of the box. A static-like noise accompanies the trail of scorching sparks. Then everything blacks-out. The crowd's bloodcurdling cries of horror can still be heard. And her malicious and maniacal laugh is still audible through the speakers.

~~()~()~()~~

_Wake up, Doug. Come on. Wake up for me_.

The reassuring sound of my companion wakens me. I rub my face, noticing the grisly scar stitched across my palm. Desiccated blood stains my fingers, palms, wrists, and arms. _What were you doing back there?_ I don't answer. I close my eyes and try to recall my vivid delirium again. The little girl that calls me her father. It's bizarre that I never reminisced about her before. I never reminisced about Stephen before, too. I can't quite put my mind to it, about who they are. So strange…

The faceless woman. She reminds me of the one who I have known for so long. The woman who chose the more honorable and nobler idol over me. The absent assistant. The woman who transformed into the murderous monster. It makes me sick to think that such a sweet woman that she once was, could become so sadistic, so vindictive, so antagonistic. I'm not sure that she's even the same woman she was before. No, she couldn't be. A single tear rolls down my cheek as I ponder about the darling woman, the woman that only subsists in my obscure memories.

"Caroline…"


End file.
